American Sniper: The Autobiography of the Most Lethal Sniper in U. S. Military History

O
NWARD
T
he elections came and went.
The media back in the States made a big thing of the Iraqi
government elections, but it was a nonevent for me. I wasn’t even
out that day; I caught it on TV.
I never really believed the Iraqis would turn the country into a
truly functioning democracy, but I thought at one point that there

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was a chance. I don’t know that I believe that now. It’s a pretty
corrupt place.
But I didn’t risk my life to bring democracy to Iraq. I risked my
life for my buddies, to protect my friends and fellow countrymen. I
went to war for 
my
country, not Iraq. My country sent me out there
so that bullshit wouldn’t make its way back to our shores.
I never once fought for the Iraqis. I could give a flying
....
about
them.
A
short while after the election, I was sent back to my SEAL
platoon. Our time in Iraq was growing short, and I was starting to
look forward to going home.
Being at camp in Baghdad meant I had my own little room. My
personal gear filled four or five cruise boxes, two big Stanley roller
boxes, and assorted rucks. (Cruise boxes are the modern
equivalent of footlockers; they’re waterproof and roughly three feet
long.) On deployment, we pack heavy.
I also had a TV set. All the latest movies were on pirated DVDs
selling at Baghdad street stands for five bucks. I bought a box set of
James Bond movies, some Clint Eastwood, John Wayne—I love
John Wayne. I love his cowboy movies especially, which makes
sense I guess. 
Rio Bravo
may be my favorite.
Besides movies, I spent a bit of time playing computer games—
Command and Conquer became a personal favorite. Smurf had a
PlayStation, and we started getting into playing Tiger Woods.

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I kicked his butt.